"This town is dead," he said. We sat on the old stone bridge, with our feet dangling over the steady creek. "Where's Kacey?" I asked, hitting my cigarette, then passing it to see if he wanted some. He took a puff and looked off into the distance. "Probably still back at the house. Ya know, it sure is some *******, man. We fight, and she takes his ******* side." He hands me the cigarette. I gesture to him to keep it. "Thanks," he sighs in a slight relief. He seems stressed enough. I can always buy a new pack.
I take out my current one and pop a new cancer stick in my mouth. I shuffle around in my pocket to find a lighter, and spark it up. The nicotine on a cold, grey winter day like this has the perfect bite. I inhale, lick my chapped lips, and exhale. "Dude, it's just because he is younger. Remember how annoying we were when we were seventeen?" I pull his beanie over his face, hoping to at least get a smile. He lets a slight grin escape his aggravated demeanor, and slaps my hand away. "Yeah, you're still that **** annoying." We laugh for a brief moment, then the calm settles in again.
I look to my left: brown grass, dead trees, and playground that has been neglected for months. Then, to my right: Eric, flicking the cigarette, the old auto parts plant, more dead grass, and the road. Everything has a grey and pale blue tint. This is what winter brings. Eric scoots back and stands up. He brushes gravel off his pants, "I gotta head out. Ally has to go to work, she needs me to drive her. You want to come?" "Sure, I don't have **** to do anyways."
We hop in the car and drive off. I lean out and look at the stores in the town square as we cruise through: Barber, antiques, diner after diner. He's right: this place is dead. "Hey," Eric slaps my chest. Impact is reduced thanks to my puffy jacket, "Do you think Ally is just slutty enough to settle for a guy like me?" He smiles and looks in the mirror. Peeling off his beanie, he exposes his blonde, messy hair. To be honest, he wasn't that bad looking when he tried. Maybe if he would just shave that creepy soul patch. "You know her better than I do, man," I say, "I mean, she asked you for a ride to work. I wouldn't look too far into it."
The thing is, I don't want him to get his hopes up. This past summer, she and I slept together a few times. Instead of cuddling afterwards, she'd roll over, do a line of coke, then say she has to go somewhere. Easy to say, we were just **** buddies. The part that is ******* though: anyone I know who has messed around with Ally, gets trapped in this abyss of feelings. She makes you fall in love with her. But it's so hard to love her, too, because she's so strung out and scattered. These days you can't even tell if she's high or not. It has just become her.
We finally get to her apartment and wait outside. I see her starting to come down from the third floor. Black and white Converse High-Tops with black stockings. They have a few runs and holes in them from our wild nights. She wore them the night we first had ***. Then a pair of frayed, high waisted, black shorts. She always knew exactly what to wear to show off her thin body. And finally, a simple black tank top. Her hair was in a messy, blue bun. Tattoos disbanded all over her body. Small simple ones, because she could never save up enough money to buy an actual normal one.
"Hey, *******!" She says as she crawls into the backseat, pushing empty cigarette packs and fast food bags to the other side. "What's up Ally?" Eric says, looking her up and down with a giant grin on his face. "Oh, ya know," she sighs as she digs through her purse. "Do you mind running by the gas station before you take me to Moonie's? I need some aspirin and a pack of Marlboros." "Moonie's? I thought I was taking you to work, not the bar! God ******, Ally, if you want to drink I'll just buy us a bottle. It's much cheaper, and you can get as ****** as you want." Eric had no subtlety to the fact he wanted to get her wasted. "No, **** face. I work there."
Eric and I just look at one another.
"When the hell were you going to tell me you work there?" He says, overjoyed. "I didn't want you dragging a sweetheart like Syd down there to be a little pervert," she says jokingly. It's not like I haven't seen it all anyways. "Besides, I'm not on the stage....yet. I'm just bartending"
  We made it to the gas station. Ally starts scrambling through her purse, pulling together wadded up bills. The sound of medicine bottles fills the car. Midol, migraine medication, and various other pills (and, honestly, I wouldnt be surprised if they weren't originally hers) "Okay," she said with a deep breath of relief,"I'll be right back." She hops out of the car and dances a small, hungover sway, one foot over the other. Eric and I watch as she heads in. I observe her tendencies, motions, and body language. Such a broken soul intrigues me. How is she okay with this? I feel protective of her, but desire a release. How does one care for such a soulless being? She finds her peace in stranger's arms. I was a stranger when we got together. Once we got close, she started at it again with the mystery men. Eric, he doesnt watch her, really. He stares. The guy might as well be drooling, standing on all fours like a dog. He doesnt observe her, notice the little things. He lusts for her body, much like all the others. She has that air about her. She could make the Pope sin, for God's sake. It's almost pure evil in that skin, but I know there is something fighting. She couldn't have always been like this.
I must have spaced out, we're already pulling away from the parking lot. "Here," she says in a spunky and proud tone, as she tosses a pack of Newports up to Eric. "God bless!!" He shouts, closing his eyes in rejoice, "I've been out all day, bumming off of Syd, here, the past couple hours." He reaches over and pats me on the cheek. I shoo him away and turn up the radio. Arctic Monkeys, a black and white dream flows into my head. Saving her, but nothing could. I could grab her head and push it up against the wall, hold the needles, pipes, and pills infront of her, beg her to stop, and all I'd get is a smirk. I know it. No ***** given.
We arrive at Moonie's. Blacked out windows, purple and red paint, black velvet door. It's the only ******* for miles around and tends to stay busy. Who would think I's spend my days here as a young adult, when I went to church right up the road when I was kid.
We walk in and sit at the bar. The only place i can drink at besides friend's houses. Moonie's son runs the joint now. His dad opened the place forever ago, long before any of us were even considered, or unwanted for a select few. Moonie, apparently, was like a small town Hugh Hefner, had his pick of the ladies. Messed around with his top dancer and had this *******, Todd. "How's it hangin'?" Todd asks Eric and I as I reach for the ashtray. It's ******* weird, no doubt. Todd looks like a middle school teacher who would spend his time writing in a coffee shop, not running a ******* or holding an impressive amount of assault charges. Curly brown hair, like Corey Matthews from Boy Meets World, skinny and tall. Button down flannel, fitted blue jeans, and the beard to top it off. Looks like a young dad, acts like it too. He looks after the "troubled youth" in this place. He provides love, ***, and drugs for those without. I've crashed a few times on his couch. He's charming, which would make sense to him being Ally's current weakness. I catch the glances they share as Todd awaits for either Eric or I to finish a drag on our cigarettes to answer. Now I understand how she got the job.
"Uh," I say, exhaling smoke, "It's good man. Eric here shut down into "Little *****" mode with his mom again." Todd and I laugh as Eric slumps down. His eyes fidget for a moment, as he searches for a comeback. "Dude," he says, as he places his hand down calmly on the bar. He closes his eyes, and slowly whispers,"I swear to God, **** her." Eric sounds breathy and comedic, yet you can hear the truth in it. He and his mother never got along. He always idolized his dad, who left a long time ago. He says a lot that he wishes his dad took him along, and got him out of this town. He really hates it here. "I've seen your mom," Todd smiles and shakes his head as he breaks out three shot glasses, "and I would most definitely **** her. You can call me 'Daddy *******'." "Absolutely not, you **** head," Eric says, choked from trying not to laugh, "Touch my mother, and you die. Last thing I want is another little ******* sibling, let alone, one related to you." he says, now laughing at his own joke. I must have no sense of humor, because none of this is funny. My parents raised me to respect women. I've seen Eric and Todd, both lay hands on Ally. She would get too drunk and start yelling and *******. Granted, she antagonized them, but they know her. She's too ******* little to REALLY fight. Luckily, it's never gotten past a few slaps and slams.

It was a story of Eric the writer love life
He wrote from his heart like he needed comfort and advice
Eric had met Emily, his long loved romantic friend
Offspring of love that would often begin
It was a friendship at first
Then reversed into a loving outburst
Eric and Emily dated for 5 years
It was romance that seemed to advance
The Full Moon nights were the given chance
But suddenly the love fire had burned out
Emily stated to Eric she was moving on
Yet Eric felt they were getting along
Emily informed Eric, she met another Guy
Eric was full of questions and wanted to know why?
Emily felt Eric was boring and not romantic
Now Eric tried his best
But Emily has a right in her confess
Emily suggested that the other Guy was her true man
When the lights went out, he was at Emily’s demand
Well Eric wrote the way he felt
It was his story in how he dealt
He had nothing to prove
Yet it was his writing as Therapy in helping him soothe
Eric moved on as well
It took real courage in story in tell
Eric’s writing became a good catch
He attracted Susan who became his match
The one word that came back was LOVE
Later, it was writing together ever after.

John and Eric
had gone to New Orleans
to get drunk,
so when they saw the girl
hanging over the railing
of the balcony
pulling her shirt
up and down
up and down,
they hurled beads at her
aiming for the top of her head
so that they'd
circle the drain of her neck
in a circling, shimmering starlet
down
her shoulders.

"Come down here," John yelled.

The girl pulled down her halter-top
one more time,
exposing two
globes of bouncing flesh.

Thinking he had said,
"Pull them down."

It was so loud and everyone was whistling
and there wasn't just a single color of light;
the aura from the club
was a nebula of parti-colored flashing.

later that night
she did come down.

She bumped in between John and Eric
as they navigated her through the crowd
trying their hardest to keep her
from falling over and puking,
while trying to do the same
for themselves.

She hung to them like they were long singular beams of steel.
When she rolled her head around at them
she remembered that they looked
hard and unknown.
And while holding her
in the crooks of their arms,
they maneuvered the flesh in their jeans
with their free hands,
trying to subdue the worlds
rising out of their pants
like volcanoes.

They got her back to the hotel.

A small room
with a tiny old bed, with flower-print
comforters and
an antique dresser with swirling
sculptured wood at its corners.

John slipped off his black leather jacket
and shook his mop of
curly black hair.

Eric plopped onto the bed,
pulling her with him.

She felt him pull,
she felt the gravity of him;
the warp as she bumped against
the bed.

"You guys should come back next year."

"Maybe," Eric said.

She didn't know if she was here or not.
If she'd been here the whole night
or if she was dreaming.

But she felt something physical
on her body.

Eric sat in the corner--
beside the humming a/c
as it vacuumed out the room--
watching with lifeless eyes.

It moved across her stomach.
Slow and continuous.
It moved down to her
pelvis,
slow and continuous.
It reached inside of her
slow and continuous,
and she felt the vacuum of space.

John and Eric
tag-teamed her.

Eric
taking her mouth
and working it around his *****,
saying
"Come on baby,
****."

John pushing against her
his glowing body
making a slapping noise
as he struggled
with his hands under her stomach
making hard dimples of flesh
on her mid-section
as he tried to hold up
her limp body.

"She's out cold,"
he said.

She sent a package
tied in this biege tweed cord.

It turned out to
be a picture of you two
at the lake,
that day it was cold
and she wore that beanie with the flames,
her hair all curly and escaping,
your lips all red and chapped.

A folded note tucked on the inside
of the frame reads:

"I have Connie,
*******

Love always,
smiley-face,
smiley-face
smiley-face,
smiley-face,
me."

­Connie: your/her rat terrier.

You put the picture
in its black frame
on the tv table.

The tweed
you nail
to two spaced planks
on the wall above the tv.

It's like abstract
modernist-expressionist-
constructionist-art.

It's just one string.

A taut cord
of brown tweed.

The black night comes,
over and over,
over and over,
she doesn't return,
but the tweed remains
as taut as a fingernail
or an exposed artery.

Somehow
it's so human and obstinate
that the woven vertebrae
seems to curve minutely
and femininely.

As time passes,
the tweed moves
from beige
to golden
and gravitational.

A call to a friend goes something like this:
"Come over here, I've got this amazing thing on my wall."

The friend, Eric,
calls more friends.

The friends come over,
all piling around this golden tweed
after they've taken stock of the kitchen
and Wild Turkey.


They take turns
plucking it,
thumbing it,
putting their ears to it,
and studying it,
all
at your insistence.

Somebody,
******* Eric,
coughs in the room.
More people begin to cough.

Eric walks up
to the the string,
that is nailed at top
and bottom
on two spaced planks.



Eric gives it a final hard tug,
snapping it like a belt.

the tweed hums and shivers off a few flakes
of dust and amber material.

"I've just wasted five minutes
with this thing,"
Eric says

to the string,
and you.

Eric speaks for the group.

He turns and leaves,
taking the whole group of
twenty
with him.

They trail behind Eric
like a great, long tail
flicking
and knocking things over
in your apartment
out of sheer agitation
on the way out.

The golden gravity subsumes you.

You do not close the door behind them,
you can't even hear their tiny, black voices
as they all clamor into the elevator
and ding.

Eric kept mostly to himself. Other children didn't like to play with him, but he didn't care. Instead he used to go into the woods and collect frogs.  
    
He never had to look for them. They came to him. He used to pretend he was their king. He imagined he looked like them. But not really like them... He was bigger and a lot more dangerous.  
    
Eric did quite well in school even though he seemed strange to others. Occasionally someone tried to bully him but it wasn't any fun. He just stood there without any reaction.    
    
Afterwards, he used to stand in the schoolyard and stare at those who had tried to bully him. Although they didn't admit it, this made the bullies afraid. Eric's look was so strange. Empty, cold and...dead.  
    
Eric knew he  was different, but didn't have any words for what he was. He figured he must have been adopted, because his parents wasn't like him.  
    
In the night time he was under the water. He swam swiftly and skillfully. His destination was a sunken city. A city with buildings very unlike those on earth.  
    
Dark and chaotic, with a geometry that would have been impossible to depict on paper. These dreams would have made most people wake up screaming, but not Eric. Instead, he was sad the dream was over.  
    
One night the dream didn't end. Suddenly Eric was outside the place he lived, but everything was different. The sky was completely black and alien stars shone there.  
    
In front of him was the beach and the ocean. Cliffs towered at the sides and all was shadows and silver grey. The ocean was calling him. He looked at his feet, and noticed the webbing between his toes.  
    
Into the sea, into the darkness he threw himself. Finally he was coming home.

Well, it turns out the prince was a huge *******. Our happily ever after was short-ended by Prince Charming dumping me and leaving me on the streets. You’ve all heard the story with our “happily ever after,” but it wasn’t forever. This not-so-happy ending just proves that you shouldn’t marry someone you just met. Our “forever” was for like a month. The story everyone has heard is true, they just left out the ending. Here is the real ending.
    
“Listen here Cindy, you’re great and all, but I don’t love you. You’re not as beautiful as the night we met and I don’t think I can handle that betrayal.”
“Are you ******* kidding me?!” I’m so angry right now I can’t even wrap my mind around what happened. He looks at me with stern, serious eyes and a smirk that makes me want to punch him into another dimension. How can he do this to me? Everything was going perfectly, until this moment. I’m appalled at the sight of him.
“Also, I’m leaving you for your step sister, Drizella.” What the hell? He had to choose the ugliest one too. I cant even to respond to that. I take all the money I can find and walk out the door without even looking back.
I probably should have thought this through, since I have nowhere to go. I have no friends, no family, and my fairy godmother left me as soon as I married Prince *******. I did take most of his money, but I’m not sure what to do with it. I’ve never been on my own. As I’m walking far, far away from the prince’s castle, I find a park that is calling for me to rest. I lost track of how many days I’ve been walking and I feel like how my stepsisters look. I got some much needed sleep on an unnecessarily hard bench and woke up ready to carry on with my journey. I woke with a fright when I saw two stunningly dashing eyes peering over me. Those eyes belonged to a beautiful man who dressed like a prince, but smelled oddly like the sea. I did not want to break his gaze.
After a few seconds of slightly awkward eye contact, the man finally spoke,”Excuse me miss, you looked cold and uncomfortable so I wanted to offer you a place to stay. You look very smart so I’m sure you’re very reluctant and confused. My name is Eric. My wife and I have a huuuuuge house with more rooms than we need and we’d love to have you, Cinderella.”
“H-how do you know my name?”
“Um, everyone in every realm knows who you are and what you look like.” Oh yeah, I forgot that I didn’t exist to anybody until I married a prince and I was somebody to everybody. I hesitantly agreed and we rode on his horse to his castle which overlooked the sea. That must be why he smelled like it. This man has to be a prince. There is no way that even the richest people in this kingdom together could afford this castle. The inside was more magnificent than the outside. It had huge, open rooms with intricate windows so that you could see almost completely around the castle. I wouldn’t mind spending the rest of my life here. My thought is interrupted by Eric’s wife walking in and internally murdering me as soon as she lays her eyes on me.
“So I tell you I’m leaving you and not even a day later, you already have another girl here? What is wrong with you?”
“What’s wrong with me?! You’re the one with *****!”
She begins to shout “His name is Sebastian and he’s more of a man than you’ll ever be!” She storms out of the castle, leaving only an echoing boom from the slammed door.
This is almost my exact situation except reversed. I see him try to shrug it off, but I can see the hurt in his eyes. As he gives me a tour, the hurt in his eyes slowly begins to fade.
“Hey, I’m sorry that you had to see that earlier.”
“You don’t have to be sorry, Eric. It wasn’t your fault. My husband just left me so I understand how bad it hurts.” He just nods his head and continues showing me around. The tour ends at Erics bedroom. I don’t know what comes over me, but I kiss him. It was awkward, but then it didn’t stop and it became very heated. This was a passion I never got to experience with Charming. I woke up with the cool blanket clinging to my naked body. I felt something warm behind me and slowly rolled over to see Eric. I screamed and stumbled off the bed. I thought yesterday was just a dream! My scream woke Eric and his eyes widened as they found me.
“Can we uhhh… pretend like nothing happened?” he hesitantly asked. I nod my head and rush to the guest bedroom to wash away the memories from last night’s rendezvous.

Things were awkward for a long time, but we tried to pretend as if nothing happened. Eventually we started to build a friendship! We’ve actually even been on a couple dates. I can’t believe I didn’t do this with Charming. No wonder our marriage fell apart. I practically know everything about Eric, and he knows almost everything about me. This is the happiest I’ve been in a looong time. We’re only about a month into the relationship and we’re already talking about marriage. I know it is very soon but it’s a step up from only knowing him a day. It only took an unexpected encounter to bring us together. This may or may not be my real happily ever after but I’ll just have to wait and hope and see. For now, I am just happy.

Ben, Ben! the voice cried out...
I looked back to the source of the sound
along came running a very very skinny man
now alongside the face looked familiar yet still unknown
Ben! it me, its me Eric...its me
It dawned, then it puzzled, then it alarmed, then it made me laugh
wow, hey! Eric old bean, where have you been hiding, whats de show
the last time I saw you at the Student Bar, you were talking blonds
now look at you, looking like a praying mantis on a diet of water
you just disappeared, thought you left college, I couldn't find you
yeah! Eric said, his face falling and hollowed eyes searched mine
Ben, he said in lowered tones
Man, I've had quite a rough time of late,  been out of College, man!
yea, I know that, silly, I just said so, dumdum!
he smile a thin smile on a thin face in a thin kinda way
Ben!
Yessss
Well, remember that blond gal I was raving about to you, that night
yea, the last time I saw you, you were sited with Phoebe
both of you playing tongue Tennis, she was really hung on you
yes, said I, but back to you, I said, still not believing what I'm seeing
Well, I went home with the blond gal, that evening
Yessss, said I again
well things got exciting
OOhh....said I with a smile, naturally, I expect, I added
The thing is, he stammered as I raised an eye brow
the thing is, I spent a long time eating her!
you did what? I inquired, like I didn't hear first time
You know, says Eric with a sly look, I ate her
Ok, Ok, says I, I get the picture, I've done likewise myself
we both laughed, the way errant young men do
So, continued Eric, the next day I couldn't eat a thing
what do you mean, says I. You didn't eat the poor gal, I hope
God, are you a cannibal now, where is she, I said in mock horror
No, I didn't eat her like that, I just ate her, you know
Anyway, all next day and days and days after I couldn't keep food down
went to the hospital, they said its some endo-something bug
I've taken all kinds of tablets and potions, still I can't keep food in
my tummy  screams and hurt, my insides fight them-selves
I suffer all the time, I think I'm gonna die
I didn't know if to laugh or cry or do both
Oh Christ Eric, is these all true, you sure its not cancer you've got
No, they said its not cancer and they've done lots of tests.
Where is the blond gal, I asked, as if that would help anything
I haven't been to College, I don't know
Oh man, I'm sorry to hear all this, so sorry for what's happening
listen, lets meet up later, we'll talk more, take it easy old chap
where are you going now, Eric asked
I looked at scarecrow Eric, I did not smile
" I'm going to cancel a date with a blond I'd made for tonight"

Eric Bischoff ran World Championship Wrestling
Otherwise known as WCW
The only wrestling company to beat the WWF/WWE in the ratings
(At least in the modern era)
Eric Bischoff made many mistakes
And they're well documented
He had many triumphs
And they're well documented
But on top of his successes and failures
Is a mountain of lies
Which are well documented
By wrestling's version of tabloid journalists
Otherwise known as "dirt sheet writers"
Who sell lies and gossip to their marks
They sell the delusion of knowing the inner workings of wrestling
They sell the inner workings of a dirt sheet writer's imagination
Negativity, cynicism, petulance and paranoia
Eric Bischoff has a distaste for these writers
Because their lies taint the viewer's experience
He tries to fight their lies with truth
But his effort is futile
Because there's an endless amount of pessimists
Willing to believe any cynical narrative thrown their way
And there's only one Eric Bischoff

Sympathy I feel for those who haven’t seen what I’ve seen, and for those who have felt what I’ve felt. The embodiment of my regret, shining with all the light once saved me, now engulfs me in torment of my mistake. As I orbit in harmony with the rotation of a green star, that is much more than just a green star, I ponder what my life would be if I still had my green star. I know that in time, this green star that means everything and more to me, will collapse and perish, but we will only be able to see the star frozen in time, that very instant before it collapsed, desperately clinging to one single moment. I still cling to that moment, the moment I saw my soul break free from the chains that I thought would hold me down perpetually, in her eyes. I don’t quite know how it happened, I wasn’t looking for it, I wasn’t on the make, it was the perfect storm, I said one thing, she said another, and the next thing I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my days in the middle of that conversation. It’s painful to admit that I ruined the most precious friendship I’ve ever had, which tends to sting more when she was the only genuine friend I’ve ever had. I prefer solidarity most of the time, but that doesn’t mean I don’t long for a companion every now and again, but lately that desire grows stronger and stronger, holding on to the memory of the companion I once had and lost. My life on Earth, my past life, would be considered prosperous; I was one of the top aerospace engineers in the world, which is a very time consuming and painstaking practice, but exploring the unknown territories of the universe had always been my passion. I didn’t have much of a family, my mother and father passed away when I was 22 years old, and my brother and I severed ties shortly after the death of our parents, and I had not desire nor time for a significant other, let alone the willingness to dedicate my life to another person. I always believed that I embodied the definition of misplacement, I never seemed to fit in any particular group of people, nor with any other person, really, I enjoyed getting lost in the sea of my thoughts, riding the waves, pondering ideas, asking questions that can only be answered in theory, which essentially renders me incapable of interacting with others. However, being your own best friend can sometimes lead to psychotic thoughts of self-loathing, and eventually the last straw broke the backbone of my perseverance, and I convinced myself to commit suicide. Originality and pretentiousness ****** me, demanding myself to end my life a way no one else’s life has ended, and my imagination spiraled into a storm, brainstorming my own demise. My most recent endeavor at the time was to manufacture a personal bubble that would sustain in space, and condensing a spaceship into the size of a smart car was the threshold between my pathetic life of this planet, and self-destructive glory. After a year of an extremely unhealthy intensity of research, my talisman of my soul, my most cherished invention, my cosmic coffin. I traveled from my home in Anchorage to the highest point in Alaska, Mount McKinley, and inserted my body comfortably inside my space bubble and proceeded to ascend into my eternal salvation, ascending towards achievement of my life’s dream, ascending the edges of space, where no human has ever occupied in history. The butterfly feeling in my stomach, caused by the sheer joy I felt, is probably the closest feeling I had ever felt at the time to true love, the irony of my affection for death. As I slipped past our atmosphere and found myself floating closer towards the stars and planets, I sat down and enjoyed the galactic show of entropy before me, and after a while the visual melody put me in a hypnotic state, and before I knew it I was being stated down by a saucer shaped spaceship with luminous blue lights encompassing the round edge of the ship. I felt my capsule gravitating towards and entering the ship through a small hole on the underbelly of its structure, that appeared to look like a portal. As I passed through the light I was being observed by a feminine looking blue creature, with bright green eyes that sparkled like emeralds in the moonlight, and long, luscious blonde hair, straight and smooth as silk. She was tall, which I realized as I stood up out of my capsule, about an inch taller than my six foot frame, with long, skinny fingers and decently big webbed feet, and a long slender tail hanging down from her backside that wasn't quite long enough to touch the ground. She had shiny, scaly skin that had a deceptive rough appearance in texture, but felt soft and smooth when her hand reached out to embrace mine, and she said, "Hello, I am called Elora, what are you called?" Still in shock, the only awkward response I muttered was, "Eric" and she asked, "Why are you here Eric?" As I regained my quick wit I declared, "Does anyone know why they're here?" She smiled, exposing her sharp white teeth and proposed, "Well, you can help me find out." I think it had something to do with the adrenaline rush caused by the mystery and uncertainty of the situation, but I caught myself grinning, I didn't even realize I was smiling, it was an odd, unfamiliar feeling, but I was madly attracted to this blue angel from the stars. I spoke to her about my life on Earth, and my elaborate suicide plan, and she explained to me that she abandoned her home planet Eridani to conduct galactic research, and that she was from the Altair race. She elaborated on how life on Eridani did not satisfy her, and that she would spend her life roaming around nebulas, exploring galaxies, researching stars, and documenting her experiences. She showed me a star that she claims as hers, a green star called Zohra, which was her favorite star because she said she could only feel happiness when looking at it, to which I said, “It reminds of your eyes” and she looked at me and seemed flattered. She loved that star, her eyes lit up brighter than the star itself when she would stare at it, hypnotized at the sight of it, which I cared little to notice because I couldn’t look away from her. I couldn’t quite understand how someone could be so invested in something like that, something that just sits there spinning and spinning, peacefully participating in the orchestra of the universe. I think she was so fascinated by this object because she felt the same disconnect from others of our kind. The lonely, outcast feeling connected us, ironically, and we carried on intriguing conversation for what felt like an eternity, and I only wish that conversation could've lasted longer. I found in Elora what I had not found in any human being, she understood me, to the point where I was convinced she had mind reading abilities, and her understanding me didn’t diminish her interest in me, like what usually happened to me on Earth. I found happiness in her company, I found salvation in her embrace, I found unparalleled beauty inside and out, and I found myself in our friendship.  As time slowly rolled on my affection for Elora grew increasingly unbearable, and eventually the realization dawned upon me that I had to inform Elora of my feelings for her. We were accelerating towards the Crab Nebula, and I noticed the blurred blue light in the center, wrapped around by streams of red and yellow light, holding the blue heart in the center together. Elora was to me what the red and yellow streams were to the integrity of the Crab Nebula, without those streams, without Elora, my soul would fall apart and disburse, just like the blue light in the center of the Crab Nebula. When I turned, looked her square in her eyes, her gorgeous eyes that were accented by the light emitting from the Crab Nebula, those eyes that pull you in and leave you in a trance, those eyes that display the beauty of nature condensed into two little spheres that seemed to effortlessly gaze inside my soul, breaking down every single wall that I have ever built up to hide myself from other people, and uncover everything I so desperately attempted to hide deep down, and I said to her, “You are the only reason I’m still alive, the only reason I still want to live, the only other soul that accepted my lost, broken soul, you are the most amazing, most beautiful creature born from the stars we now roam around, I tried to die to see what heaven is like, but heaven can wait, because there is nothing more I want than to be with you until the day my soul slips away from my body, I am madly in love with you Elora.” I poured my heart and soul out to her, bleeding out every ounce of passion and love and sophistication to her, exposing every bit of my emotions, leaving me naked and defenseless before her. Different scenarios raced around my head about how she would respond, and she glanced down at the ground, looked back up at my blank face, and she said, “My people do not love, we do not believe in love, and we cannot love. Love, no matter how polarizing it may seem, always fades in time, everything fades in time, love fades in time, ideas fade in time, you will fade in time, I will fade in time, in the end, nothing is perpetual.” My heart sank down into my stomach, and right at that moment I grasped the idea of why they call it “falling in love” because I landed harder than I could even fathom, I did not know that such powerful emotional sorrow could physically hurt so bad. I dropped down to one knee, and the streams of tears ran from my face and splashed down on the ground, like delicate little glass beads shattering as they made contact with the surface, shattering like my heart and soul. The pure agony and embarrassment of staying with the love of my life, whom I had just made an absolute fool of myself in front of, was enough to crush any man’s esteem, so the only rational option I could think of was bail towards my space bubble, and go as far away as I possibly could from the light that saved me. With every inch of separation between her and I, my heart and soul grew sour and stone cold, and new theories to rationalize my reaction and actions that followed. As a child I went to an amusement park, and I was particularly frightened of a certain attraction that lifted you straight up, a couple hundred feet, and dropped you straight down, and now I realize that my fears of love are comparable to this ride. I was so mortified by the ascension, which precedes love, that I could never enjoy the thrill of the fall, even though this time the safety harness didn’t soften the landing. I came to the conclusion, after years of thought, that I could not blame Elora, it was who she was and there was nothing she could do to change that, and instead of accepting the fact that she did not love me, I cowardly abandoned the only thing in my life that I gave a **** about, I ran away from the only other being in the universe that could make me smile the way she made me smile. After years of solidarity and self-loathing I realized that I would much rather spend my life with Elora, even if she didn’t love me, as opposed to regressing back to my lonesome life, only surrounded by a vast, more captivating scene. The only reason I am still alive is because I have not given up hope that one day I will find Elora again, and I will beg for her forgiveness, and hopefully I will be able to cherish every precious moment I spend with her. I solemnly believe that the slim chance will occur that I will once again see that face, gaze into those eyes I once did, and curse my old self for being foolish enough to leave her. I am not certain, but I can only hope that she is at least indifferent to encountering each other once again, but if she denies me I cannot blame her, because after all it is my fault for my impulsive escape. But for now I wander as a nomad amongst the stars that form constellations that all remind me of Elora, watch the planets rotate, and reminisce on the time we shared together, the time I took for granted, time that I consider to be the most precious moments of my life’s experience. I spend most of my time roaming around Zohra, which was where she and I parted ways, in hopes that one day she will return to her favorite star, to find me right there waiting for her, however patience has not served me well, and my actions which I so deeply regret caused her to abandon the star which she claimed as hers, the star that radiated happiness upon her, the magnificent star that embodied her in beauty and essence, to avoid the thought of me leaving her, which is justifiable because she was probably very flustered by me scrambling to leave her after my episode. I rotate around Zohra, observing its physical qualities, seeing Elora’s face every single time I look upon its surface, but one day the light exiting the pores of the planet grew significantly brighter, and Zohra began rotating and shaking at a phenomenally fast speed, and I witnessed Zohra swallow itself in a supernova, creating a black hole. I interpreted this to represent the death of the hope I had to once again see Elora, or maybe time had taken her like time had taken her beloved star. I allowed myself to succumb to the irresistible force from the black hole, and the death of hope I had to once more see the angelic face of my love, swallowed my space bubble and my hollow body occupying it, to the point of no return, where I can no longer regret what I had done to her, because in time, my love for her destroyed me.

The ghost of Freddie Gray,
rest in a shallow grave,
they say this is “The Land of The Free”,
so why they still treat us like slaves?

The current policed state of the Police State,
gives serious cause for alarm,
I Can't Breathe Hands Up Don't Shoot!
see it’s the 21st Century there’s cell phones,
so now we have proof That that young black man was unarmed…

See the situation in Ferguson,
it’s far from certain when,
conditions are worsen and,
the people are still hurtin' and,
we don't even have time to mourn,
before the police **** another one,
6 more kids killed since Michael Brown,
the problem didn't start with Ferguson.

Seriously,
it's got me thinking "What's going on?",
but I’m more Queen than Marvin Gaye,
still straight away they shot another one,
BANG,

and another one BANG,
and another one BANG,
and another one bites the dust…
BANG!

Just ask the family of Rumain Brisbon,

shot by an officer,
who mistook a bottle of pills for a gun,
the officer leaves behind two hot Glock shells,
while Brisbon leaves behind a daughter and a son,

then there's Eric Gardner,
who's ****** was caught on tape,
undercover cops strangled him to death with an illegal chokehold,
left the general public in dismay and disarray,
his only crime was selling some cigarettes,
but the cops killed him in a hurry,
this was an obvious homicide,
still no inditement by the **** Grand Jury!

So come really,
if we can't even get a single conviction,
on a single cop,
for a single shot shot without permission,
then what hope is there left to hope in,
it's as if the rope is tied around my neck and I'm chokin',
I thought to provoke a riot instead I decided to make this thought provokin',
if the pen mightier than the sword,
then we need to write a way right away to get these closed cases re-opened!

They say that just to have a driver's license is a privilege not a right,
while They make us feel like it’s a privilege just to survive in this life,
it shouldn't have to feel like a privilege just to survive,
while they're taking everything from us including our rights and our lives,
and the media tries to force us to take sides,
like I am against blacks because I'm white,
yeah cops have killed a lot of Black kids,
but that fact is that cops **** more Whites,
because it's not the color of the skin I’m in,
it's the color of the suit that one’s wearin,’
that really decides who's on who's side,
so who’s gonna live,
and who’s gonna die?

Boys in blue with a badge to **** at will,
anxiety of the All Seeing Eye on me makes me feel ill,
so much stress,
I can't take it,
I'm at home all alone,
laying in bed naked,
thoughts of dying brothers,
and crying mothers,
all done by undercover killers undercover,
they **** like ****,
where's Will.i.am,
"Where's The Love", where's the lovers?

No more Fergie,
just more Ferguson,
no more Taboo,
just more taboo killings when,
will we finally have some peace,
Jesus,
we just,
need to be free but,
they have us caught under an iron fist,
book us in and take our fingerprints,
tap our phones and put us on 'the list',
I thought this was supposed to be,
the land of the free,
but what the fck is this?
Feeling like Eric Garner I can't breathe,
just give me a bit of room please,
can't I at least,
get some groceries without the PDs harassing me?

Jeez.

Meanwhile,
back on the front lines,
it's the 4th quarter,
crunch time,

while we shout out,
“Black Lives Matter!”
they’ve got their clubs out,
like “Swing batter batter!”

while we write rhymes,
and debate the details,
they're gearing up for war,
reading our emails with a pledged allegiance to an empire of evils,

coming in like Stormtroopers,
with automatic weapons and combat boots,
and the whole time we're standing there on the Front Lines,
waiving our arms up high like, ”Hands Up, Don't Shoot!"


∆aron L∆ Lux ∆

A is for Adam the Aardvark and his band the African Ants
B is for Broderick the bumble bee who thinks they are pants

C is for a cynical cat named Crusoe
While D is for Darwin the delightful deer
E is for Eric the elephant who always drinks my beer
F is for Fernando the Fox but in Spain he known as  Zorro
He lost his wife Matilda last week and is now brimming with sorrow
G is for Gerald and yes he is a Giraffe
He wore odd socks last Tuesday and made Heinrich the Hyena laugh
Imelda is an Iguana and she is quite immense, though she is really old but has unstoppable sense.
Jack the Jackal has a regular name but he is an assassin and has a pretty good aim
K is for Kimberly who happens to be a kangaroo but she doesn't live in the outback anymore because she lives in London Zoo

Laramie the Llama lives south of the United states , he loves hiking in the mountains but one thing he hates, is being mixed up with Arnie the Alpaca.

Monty the Moose loves drinking maple syrup and playing ice hockey,
yes he is a stereotype but I am his Jockey
Nero the Narwhal is the unicorn of the deep, he loves scaring sailors and loves to sleep
Olive the Orangutan is a neighbour of Kimberly the kangaroo
but they have a plan to escape from London Zoo.

Pug is a Pig , just a regular pig, but he wishes to be ferocious and really big
Quentin is a quail and buddies with Pug, he likes eating sunflower seeds but never a slug
Ramon the Rhinoceros also dwells in the Zoo and is part of the escape plan with The red ape and kangaroo , he'll actually be the one to bust them out,
but to get his attention you really must shout.

Sylvia slithers, Sylvia is sleek if you were a mouse and saw her, you'd go EEK!
Terence T. Tiger is terrified, because he was asked to escape from the Zoo,
yes with the Red ape , Rhino and Kangaroo.

Ulysses is a horse who super glued a horn to his fore-head , he wanted to be the last known Unicorn because he heard that they were all dead. Vincent is a Bat, just a Vampire Bat,
he doesn't really like blood but is enemies with Crusoe the Cat.

Warren the wolf has many female fans but spends half the day with Eric the Elephant drinking my cans .Xenops is not an alien , it's just a rain forest bird, I'll give you more info as soon as I've heard
Y is for Yul and I don't mean the bald actor , this Yul is a yak but does watch the X factor
Z is for a Zebra named Zak and yes he does know the Yul the Yak , they were introduced by a certain kangaroo, and now it's their job to visit London Zoo

Isela
takes it in
the mouth.

She'd get on her knees,
positioning herself
half-in,
half-out
of focus.

Just enough for Joe,
behind the Cannon,
to capture
the whole thing.

Eric,
the producer,
was on his hands and knees
beside Joe.

'Come on Izzy
work it,
work the ****.'

'That's right,
stroke it,
make him sing.'

'I love it,
Izzy.'

Izzy wanted to bite
down.

She hated each and every ****,
she ever saw,
but she had a few things to do.

Her **** had to be new
and renewed
on the daily,
her ***** had to get wet
on command,
and her stroke had to be
so fast
they'd burn the dude
as her mouth
cooled.

After her mouth
was littered,
and her face was a mess
of spinal glitter -- You could make a man
come out of his
brain, Eric would say.

Izzy would get in her car,
wiping her arm
where'd she'd gone
to the clinic
to get pricked
and tested,
and pull a long haul of Virginia Slims
down her throat.
'
It was always the first sweet thing
she tasted.

Izzy would pull into the Terrace View apartments,
all that long black hair,
and wipe all that make-up off,
three napkins-worth,
so she could kiss her baby.

Because Rocco was in for a bid,
and not coming home anytime in
the forseeable future.

Her microbiology degree was somewhere
in her closet underneath those pink stillettos and
more fishnets than fish.

And Izzy knew
that with those double d's;
*** like a backseat,
mouth that could grease
a ****,
and her hands
Eric liked to call his own,
that she could pay the light bill
and maybe
put Romeo
into a daycare center
that wasn't full of roaches
and
angry *******.

"Someday I'll get out,
but it's illogical
to say
with all the money I'm making,
and it's just a job
when you get down to it,
I've ****** a lot of *****
and never gotten
paid."

Rocco Jr.'s cheeks were always the second
sweet thing
she tasted.

"I know a lot of girls
that got defeated by this game."

Christine hated Saturdays
on the locked ward
the day her fiancé

jilted her at the altar
the ***** music playing
in the background

the flowers
the aisle carpeted
with that pattern

she will always remember
and as you saw her
across the way

looking out the window
you saw Eric the day kid
who was brought in

while his mother worked
was aggravating her
was poking her

in the back
and you saw red
and went and pushed him away

and that brought the male nurses over
and they stood between you both
and Eric glared at you

and the big nurse said
what’s going on here?
and Eric said

it’s him he pushed me
and Christine said
Eric was poking me

and Benedict was just
keeping him away
well calm down now

the fat nurse said
keep it cool
and so you and Christine

walked to another window
and peered out
at the snow

and she said
the creep
as if we haven’t enough

to cope with without  
that creep aggravating us
but thanks anyway

for keeping him away
and you said
that’s ok

he gets to me too
I’ll bop him
one of these days

when the nurses
aren’t looking
and she smiled

and said
let me know when
I wouldn’t want

to miss that
and you looked out
at the falling snow

that was settling
on the fields
and tree tops

and far off
you saw a tractor
moving over the ground

and seagulls were following behind
and she said
quite picturesque isn’t it?

Yes
you said
kind of Christmas cardy

yes
she said
taking your hand

I wonder if we’ll be
out of here before then?
and you felt kind of numb

as if maybe the whole world
had gone black
and the snow fell

and you squeezed
her hand sensing
the warm flesh

and her thumb rubbed
against yours
and behind you

the unlocking
and locking
of doors.

Delivered to us by an optimistic gentleman in a black Stetson cap
who spent his days waving village traffic down with an open hand,
it's been four years since you were sat on the bookshelf in Kath's house.

You stood proud, surveying the fine china made across the border
wrapped up in donated newspaper articles and pristine hand-me-downs,
while my inky fingers welcomed regulars who only ever looked around.

Each weekend we were greeted by bright smiles set in permanent shadow.
Sometimes I declined banknotes on the street for carrying dismantled tables.
I'm still searching for namesakes when perched on local stones above sea level.

Friends like Elvis were divisive figures due to their signature tobacco smells.
Under a green bus shelter, I laughed at his frown about a Midlands town.
Thinking about the rows of vacant church seats still leaves me cold

even now. As I watch needles drop onto rocks and a solitary shell,
your frame shrivels daily and bends you crooked like a question mark.
Oh, Eric - will I ever meet your father again to discuss your burial?

The first time that Evan laid eyes on her, he told himself that he was going to marry her. Embarrassed by his own fantasy, he quickly dismissed that thought as fast as it came to mind, telling himself what an idiot he was. Yet, from time to time, in spite of his reasoning, the thought would invade his skull.

What a dumb idea anyhow! It was just lame, teenage fantasyland! Girls did that kind of junk all the time, saying they were going to be Mrs. So-and-so, and thank God nobody could read his mind to know what he was dreaming up! Like she would marry him! He felt like a dumb ****, great in athletics, but far out of her league. Not even having the courage yet to ask a girl out on a date, and now he was already thinking of marriage! Pathetic! Really! Only a freshman in high school, he felt he should know better, lacking the good common sense his dad always tried to drive into him and had himself.

Ginny Delgado belonged with the smart kids, the brains of the school, although she seemed to stick more by herself, away from any stereotypical clique. Evan had first seen her in his biology class, and he remembered when other students wanted to copy off of her test papers. She never allowed any of that to happen, though, even if it would gain her popularity, false popularity but attention just the same.

It was a surprise to him that Ginny seemed to have few friends. Mostly, girls who were nerdy and smart did not seem very attractive or put together. Ginny seemed to have it all. She was smart and pretty, but she never identified with any of the girls who thought they were hot—and all other girls were not—and so she stood apart as one who shrouded herself in guarded aloofness.

And now here he was at his 20th high school reunion, one he really did not want to attend, but talked himself into going anyway. Perhaps, he could shoot the breeze and run into a few old buddies, his basketball friends. He didn't think that much of Ginny since he graduated from Fillmore, much less anybody from all those years ago. There really wasn’t any reason to reminisce once high school was behind him. School was not misery for Evan Stewart, but it wasn’t a time where everything seemed magical and carefree, not like for some students who looked upon those days as some of the fondest memories of their lives.

It was the class of ’92, and a huge banner displayed across one of the walls read, “Welcome back, class of 1992! Fillmore High School rules!” There was a good turnout, and Evan recognized a lot of people, although there were fewer that he knew by name.  

Sitting under dimly light lights, around a bunch of round tables, Evan now sat with the other alumni, stuck in a crowded hall with music blaring away from the early nineties. He had his overpriced meal. He had his few beers.

But what now?

He was almost bored to death. He was beginning to watch the clock more and more, scanning the room to see if he could possibly find reason to stay longer.  But then something happened that he never expected to happen, never even would have imagined it.

And, suddenly, his heart started to pick up its pace.

Was that her?

Evan thought he had made out the vague shape of a possibly familiar figure, an amazing and sudden surprise. Was that Ginny Delgado?

He wondered if he was seeing things as he intently stared across the room at the shadowy prospective of Ginger Delgado. But with the low amount of lighting, it just might not be her but someone he never even met before. How awkward would what be?

If it was Ginny, she was sitting next to a guy who seemed obnoxious and full of himself. Even from afar, he appeared to be a guy who would be in everyone’s face, with wild hand gestures, talking away and giving nobody else a chance for a word in edgewise.  If that really was Ginny, was that her husband? What a trip that would be! All the sense he once attributed to her would have to have gone out the window, if that were the case.

Sitting at Evan’s table were several of the other guys that were also heavy into high school basketball. Most were married and came with their wives—nobody was alone as Evan was—and now they all tried to act like they were thrilled to be all gathered together to show off their accomplishments. They were all passing around stories of life after high school, after basketball—some with talk of their college days, their wives, their kids, their jobs and careers—plenty of drinks to go around, and some toasting to the good, old days and to even brighter futures ahead. Evan was never married and did not have any children, so he felt he had much less to say. Most of those guys were not even very interesting, even though they tried to make it out that they had achieved so much in their lives. They may have been out of shape and past their prime, but all of them tried to act like they were the same as they were twenty years ago. None of what they all said impressed Evan at all, even though he tried to be interested.

He kept looking at the woman across the room, and the more he looked at her, the more he was convinced he was spot on about her. She had to be Ginny! He should just get up now and have the guts to ask her! But what would she say? Yes, I am Ginny Delgado, and this pushy **** next to me is my husband?

Though he was twenty years older, Evan felt just as awkward and as scared as he did in his freshman Biology class. It was better to just let the issue be. He’d rather save face than look like a total fool.

Suddenly, the unexpected occurred, something that gave Evan’s heart even more of a stir than he initially had when he spied her presence. Was it possible? Ginny now looked like she was starring back at him, as if they had somehow miraculously locked eyes and she had an uncanny ability to notice him back, from that afar off, now being transfixed onto him!  

You’ve really lost it now. What do you think, that she really notices you and remembers you?

Ginny stopped paying attention to the obnoxious man beside her and kept looking in Evan’s direction. She even reached her hand up and gave a little wave out his way.

Timidly, Evan waved back.

Standing up, Ginny started to make her way across the room. The obnoxious guy next to her looked on after her, like he could not believe she had wanted to part company with him. Evan guessed she was not his wife—thank God for that!

No, there is just no way she is coming over to talk to you. Alright, maybe she is. Get a hold of yourself now! Stop acting like a teenager and act like you actually know something about women. Come on, Evan! Get it together! She is coming.

Evan was right. It was Ginny Delgado! But she stopped short of his table to sit a down at the table in front of him, next to another fellow classmate of theirs, a female student that he vaguely remembered, though he did not know her name.

It was almost a relief she did not come to sit with him! Yet the disappointment was equally there. Seeing her more up close, Evan knew for sure it was Ginny. She was still quite pretty, perhaps even more so now, her medium brown hair and her dark purple dress complimenting each other. Not wanting to stare, Evan couldn’t help but to shoot many glances her way, without trying to be too obvious.
          
She smiled a lot, glad to talk to another person that she knew, and probably glad to be away from the guy she was stuck with before. Her eyes sparkled, and Evan never remembered ever seeing her so unguarded. In biology class, she was quiet, like he tended to be. Now she seemed so different, seemingly freer to be herself. Evan rarely saw her smile in high school, but thought she was very serious and sophisticated.

Before long, the DJ was now playing Eric Clapton’s Tears in Heaven. Couples at all tables were making their way to the dance floor. Soon, Ginny was approached by some guy who asked her to join him for a dance. She shook her head, no. Nonchalantly, the man turned to the woman that Ginny knew and asked her. She gladly accepted, said something to Ginny as if to have her permission and understanding, and then took the man’s hand to go to the dance floor. Ginny remained at the table by herself, looking on at the dancers with seemingly little regret that she declined an offer.

This might be your only chance, idiot. Are you going to blow it and be a wuss? Go up to her and tell her that you remember her. Go on! It is your perfect chance. What do you have to lose? If she isn’t interested, just go then. You’ve spent enough time here anyway!

“Hi…Ginny Delgado isn’t it?”

Evan asked as he approached her from behind. He cleared his throat. His voice had sounded so gravelly, as if he hadn’t uttered a single word all night. And his heart was beating a mile a minute, and he swore it must have been pulsating through his shirt. He was glad he put his suit jacket back on, for he was probably sweating like crazy.  

Ginny looked up, seemed to look puzzled, but then smiled a little. “I remember you!” she said with growing enthusiasm on her face. “Oh, but I’m sorry. You are going to have to tell me your name again”.

“Evan Stewart”, he replied. “We were in biology class together Remember? We were sophomores.”

A succession of slow songs was now being played, and Ginny’s friend was enjoying the time with her new dance partner. She certainly was in no hurry to make her way back to the table to rejoin sitting and talking with Ginny.

“Oh, sure! I remember now!” Ginny exclaimed. “Evan Stewart. Of course! You were the tall, shy guy that everyone liked because you knew how to win one for us. You were big into baseball, weren’t you?”

“Well, basketball was my best sport. I liked baseball, too, and track”, he replied humbly. It was amazing! She actually remembered more him than he thought she would!  “

Can I sit down and join you?” he asked, his courage and confidence growing.

“Oh, do!” Ginny replied, eagerly.

He felt like he was in seventh heaven. How cool was this? Sitting with Ginny Delgado? It was a bonus to a fairly descent reunion.

“So what have you been up to for the last twenty years?” Evan asked. His face was flush with embarrassment, as if he was just a guy who happened to luck out, but had no real skill in socializing with a woman he once fantasized about.

Ginny laughed a little, putting her hand up to her mouth as if her response was inappropriate. She responded, “You want a few hours? Or should I just give you a one word response?”

Evan smiled, blushing, as he tried to appear smooth and confident. “A one word response?” he asked.

“Yes. I can say it in one word—roller coaster….oops, that is two words”.

They both just sat there as I Can’t Make You Love Me, by Bonnie Raitt, played on.  

“Yeah…I guess I could say that about my life”, Evan agreed. “Would you like me to get you something from the bar?” he offered. “A coke or a beer?”

Ginny stared out onto the floor, as if she never heard him. “Isn’t it amazing how everyone comes to see the same people they always used to hang out with and still intend to hang out with to this day?” she asked. “How boring and predictable!”

Evan looked at her, puzzled, “What do you mean?”

Ginny continued to look out onto the floor, the music now upbeat dance music, and said, “Well, I mean you see all the football heroes all hanging out with each other. The members of the debate team are all huddled together as if they are preparing for the next debate. The cheerleaders, the drama club, the science club geeks…nothing has changed has it?”  

Evan shrugged his shoulders. “I guess that is typical. But that isn’t me. Sure, I saw some of the guys I played ball with, basketball, but the truth is I am not really that interested in hanging out with them.”

Ginny turned to look at him, her hazel eyes intent and solemn. Evan added, “I don’t have any contact with any of them. Nothing against them. I just don’t”.

They looked at each other in the eyes for a while. The silence was awkward. It was as Evan’s watching and waiting for her reply was the cue for Ginny to open up, and open up she did.

“I went to UCLA on a scholarship. I became a history major, world history, American history, women’s history. I never intended to teach, not at first. But it just seemed a good fit for me, and I have had plenty of teaching jobs, junior high school, high school. I moved to Sacramento.  I was briefly married after I got my first real teaching job there.”

Ginny’s eyes glistened. There was a pain in them that seemed locked in deep, not really wanting to expose itself too much, but coming out nonetheless.

Evan listened on, eagerly, so she went on, her gaze towards the dance floor “It did not work out. He cheated. He did it more than once and with more than one woman.  And now that I look back, I can see how wrong it all was, especially after my miscarriage. At first, I was so crushed, and I wanted to try again, for another baby, to try to please him, Jim, my husband. Thank God, I didn’t go on and on with him. I am glad I came back here…..back to Springdale.”

She looked back at Evan. He quickly looked away from her glance, his eyes downcast to the table. She wasn’t kidding. Her life was a roller coaster. He did not know what to say, felt so inadequate.

He decided to just share, in return.

”I was engaged once. It was a long engagement. She was a friend of a friend. Lana was her name. She told me she wanted to be with me, but she just wasn’t ready to make the big leap just right away. Actually, I am kind of glad now that I look back. We both owned our own shops. She was a hair stylist and I owned my own car repair shop, but that was about all we really had in common. I mean not really, even though we both liked sports a lot. We never seemed to agree on anything.”

Like he did, Ginny just listened intently, not attempting to make any reply. Evan added, “She was willing to cut me down in a second. I see that now”.

“Well how do you like that?!”

Evan and Ginny looked up as the woman that Ginny came over to see arrived back from the dance floor. She was walking, hand in hand, with her new found dance partner, fanning herself with her hand and laughing.

“Ginny’s got some company, too!” she exclaimed, beaming at Evan.    

Ginny replied, “Rhonda Flemming, this is Evan Stewart. She used to be Rhonda Boehner back in Fillmore”

Ginny turned to Evan to introduce him to her old classmate. “Evan…Rhonda. Evan, I don’t know if you two ever met each other before when we all went to school”.

“I’m not sure I have, either”, he replied, extending his hand to shake Rhonda’s. Rhonda quickly grabbed hold of his and gave it an overly enthusiastic shake.

“Hi, Evan!” she exclaimed "This handsome man next to me  is Brian. I never knew Brian until he asked me to dance!” she said excitedly. “And I am newly divorced and so is he! How strange is that?”

Brian shook Evan’s hand and then Ginny’s. “How’s it going?” he asked, grinning with embarrassment at Rhonda’s forward frankness.

“Ginny is one of the smartest people”, Rhonda went on to Evan and Brian. “We were once partners in an English class. We had to write a paper about each other. That was so fun in an otherwise booooooring class. Remember, Ginny?”

Ginny rolled her eyes, and made a shooing gesture with her hand to convey that Rhonda did not know what she was talking about. “I’m not as smart as anyone ever thought I was. I just worked hard and did my best, but thanks anyway for the compliment” , she said, modestly.  

“Oh, you were, too, Ginny!” Rhonda disagreed. She had a gleeful glint in her eyes. “Always so serious, Ginny Delgado! “

Rhonda grabbed Brian’s hand. “Hey, Brian and I are going to go mingle and walk around and see what trouble we can get into. You two want to join us?  

Ginny and Evan looked at each other as if to say “No way!” Ginny responded, “I think we are just fine here, but thanks”

Rhonda winked at her and then tugged at Brian’s hand. The pair of them went off together, leaving Evan and Ginny to themselves.

Evan smirked at Ginny, and then they both started cracking up with muffled laughter. Evan paused and then burst out laughing again. “Where did you find her?” he asked. A tear actually began to run down his face from laughing so hard, and he quickly wiped it away.

Ginny stopped laughing, tried to compose herself, but busted out with even more laugh

Thank you Eric for being my friend. YOu
Have taught me how it feels to be Have Real Love,
how it feels to have someone there for you
when you need them the most !you're taught me to love Jesus you taught me that people are all different and unique in their own ways and it's okay to love them just the way they are
with no judgement.
you've also taught me that being in love means you have to think about the other person before you think about yourself! for example you think about the things that you're lover wants and you get them those things. for you thinking  about what they want
Makes you happy
you tell me that people struggle but having people that trust you is very important because without having trust without having the ability to believe in someone fully you are nothing you're not worth anything and you are worthless as a person
you have to actually give your word and have it mean something in order for you to completely give yourself to the other person I trust you with my life you are my best friend you never give up on me
.
you never stay mad at me.
I know it's because you have Jesus! you are the reason I have more faith! The reason  I seek the Lord if it wasn't for you I probably would be dead!!! I have heard so many things about people saying that you are crazy maniac and that you would **** me in a heartbeat
You might hurt me
but you have never done that besides the words verbal abase.
But that's yours only defense
Against
Me because that's your only  way of hurting me and you know that it does that exactly you. But most the time I do deserve it Cuz im not the easiest person sometimes im stubborn and selfish and rude and ******.. And you put up with until you can't anymore then You (Man handle the situation and put me in my place ("slap in the face")  * IM IN A REALITY CHECK .
I say sorry

Eric the amazing
Your so extremely
amazing, caring, selfless, worthy

You are a Angel that is Heaven sent a gift from God
you are a perfect example of what God meant when he said he would find me someone that would teach me how to be a better person. if I wanted to be that better person grab hold and stop messing around
Sto running.
I want to be a better person
you make me a better person!
I honestly am glad to call you my friend, my best friend, my lover, the love of my life and my guardian angel you might not ever read this but least I got it out in the open no lies just me telling it like it is!

As dawn unfolds today beyond my fractured windowpane,
a breeze beguiles the ashen drapes. Like snakes they slip aside,
revealing wanton worlds that race and run aground, insane,
immersed in scenes obscene that savants strive to mask and hide.

Outside, the twisted streets retreat. Last night they seemed so cruel.
While lamps illumed lithe demons dancing neath the gallows tree,
their lurking shadows shuddered as they breached the vestibule.
Within the gloom strange things abound, I sense and sometimes see.

Perdu in darkened doorways (those which soothe the ones who weep)
men hide their shame in crevices in search of cloaked relief.
The ladies of the evening leave, it’s soon their time to sleep!
The alleyways are silent now but taste of untold grief.

Distraught nomadic drifters (dregs who stray from street to street)
abandon bedtime benches, squat on curbs they call a home,
appeal to passing strangers for a coin or bite to eat.
Rebuffed, they gaze with icy eyes that chill the morning gloam.

Observe with me once more, beyond my fractured windowpane,
the broken boy with crooked smile, the one who's seen the beast.
With tears, he kneels and clasps the cross to exorcise the stain.
The abbey door along the lane enshrouds a pious priest.

At nearby mall, Mike needs a cig, and stealth'ly steals a pack.
The Man, observing, thinks ‘Hey Boy, this caper calls for blood’,
takes aim, then shoots the fated stripling six times in the back.
Come, mourn for Mike and brother Justice, facedown in the mud.

The shanty town has hunkered down engaged in mortal sports
while shattered bodies' broken bones at last repose supine,
and mama (now bereft of child) in anguished pain contorts,
her eyes drip drops of bitter wrath which wither on a vine.

Fatigued and bored, some kids harass the crowded alley now.
To pass the time, Joe smokes a joint and Lizzy snorts a line.
The NRA (which deals with doom) can sometimes help somehow,
though Eric died with Dylan in ‘The Curse of Columbine’.

Marauders scam the marketplace (with billions guaranteed)  
while babes with bloated bellies beg with barren sunken eyes,
and (cut to naught) the down-and-out (like trodden beet roots) bleed.
Life's carousel confronts us all, though few can ring the prize.

Yes, Mr Madoff, private bankster (cruising down the road,
with other Ponzi pushers, waving magic mushroom wands),
adores addiction to the bailout (coffers overflowed),
and jests with all the junkies, while they’re bilking us with bonds.

A timeworn washerwoman totters, stumbling from a tram -
she shuffles to her hovel on a dismal distant hill,
despondent, shuts the shutters, prays then downs her final dram -
a raven quickly picks at crumbs forsaken on her sill.

Jihadist and Crusader warders faithfully guard the gates,
behead impious infidels, else burn them at the stake
(yes, God adores the faithful side, the heathen sides He hates),
with saintly satisfaction reaped begetting pagan ache.

All day the watchers skulk around our fractured windowpanes
inspecting all our secret thoughts, our realms of privacy,
controlling every point of view opinion entertains,
forbidding thoughts one mustn't think, with which they don’t agree.

Our rulers (kings and other things) have often made demands
of populations breathing air on near or distant shores
and when they didn’t yield and kneel, we conquered all their lands
with sticks and stones, then bullets, bombs and battleships in wars.

Come, cast just once a furtive glance… there's something in the far…
from towns to dunes in deserts dry, the welkin belches death
by dint of soulless drones that stalk beneath a straying star
erasing life in random ways with freedom’s dying breath.

But closer lies an island, where the keepers grill their wards.
Impartial trials? A travesty, indeed quite Kafkaesque.
The guiltless gush confessions, born and bred on waterboards.
No sense, no charges nor defense. A verdict? Yes, grotesque!

Now dusk is drawing near outside my fractured windowpane
while mankind wanes like burnt-out suns in fading lurid light;
and scarlet clots of grim deceit and ebon beads of bane
flow, deified, within a corpse, the fruit of human blight.

In God We Trust, For He Invented Reasonable Doubt




In Courtroom of the State of New York, Part 62,
where the only decoration extant,
in gold leaf letters,
a magnificent joke,
In God We Trust.

Words so incongruous
to the real time drama,
a poorly acted Law and Order episode
of which I partake,
(as Juror No. 1,
ergo you may address me as
Mr. Jury Foreman),
they stun me into stupefaction
every time we enter and the
Bailiff pronounces with much gravitas,
"Jury Entering"

A potpourri of a dozen Manhattanites,
with wisdom acquired
by the singular virtue of
having attained the robust age of 18,  
noteworthy for being free of
criminal record,
having been nominated
to sit upon the jury that will decide
the fate of one Eric B.,
for what he may have done upon West 11th Street
one Summer night in
June Two Thousand and Eleven,

If adjudged guilty,
New York State can take,
incarcerate him for up to
15 years of his life

Predicate felon by the age of twenty seven,
Eric's resume consists of
four felonies,
two misdemeanors
a wife and two little children,
and a partridge in a pear tree.

Facts turgid and muddy,
Eric tells a story
one juror calls a confection of lies,
no one murmurs
much disagreement in the
tiny, overheated room
we have been sequestered to
replay
the 2012 version of
Twelve Angry Men.

But I am not his peer,
nor am I a seer,
common sense says
if appearances are what they seem to be,
he aided and abetted
in the forcible taking of
a nice Connecticut lady's cell phone
with his brother who just happened to be
released from prison earlier that day

A convoluted tale
ripe with inanities is told,
upshot is our defendant's tale,
his robust defense,
portrays him as the unluckiest man
in the whole world,
a good Samaritan,
{chasing after the thief,
** **, his bro}
against whom events have conspired

In Manhattan can be a harsh place,
where the natives
a tough lot,
tougher than the Indians from whom
they stole it all.

Our bridges we sell to out-of-towers,
all it takes is one to say,
what the heck,
reasonable doubt is
a ***** to overcome
so let him go


Jan, 2012

I moved my bed today
to another corner of
the room and as it went
a small business card
was revealed and
written on it was
"Nolan Fillman has an appointment with
Eric Schlanger, L.C.S.W.,
Tues, 11-22-11 at 5:00 P.M."
And I remembered what I did that day.
I talked to Eric about my life
about how I wanted to **** myself
and about how my grades were
slipping and about how alcohol
tasted better when I was drunk and
about how I hated myself.
He told me that he was my friend.
And that I could call him
instead of killing myself
or getting drunk.

And later that night I did.
When my father yelled at
me about my
grades
I called Eric and told him I felt
like drinking and
that I hated my father.
He talked to me.
I can't remember about what.
I think it was about a trip
he took to
Spain the
summer before.
He and his wife had spent two weeks there
and they ate good food
and met good people.
I slept well that night.

And I want to call Eric Schlanger, L.C.S.W. right now.
I want to call him and have him tell me about Spain.
His number is written on the card right under where
it says TELEPHONE.
And I remember where his office is.
On Spring Street, Suite C2.

But I have to give 24 hours notice to avoid a late cancellation fee.
And it's been eleven months.

I still have a hard time not crying
whenever I hear your name
and I still have a hard time facing the fact
that I will never see you in physical form again
I guess when you are faced with the choice of letting go or holding on and you're caught in the middle of an attempt to compromise
emotions you feel equally as strong

Let me replay in my mind that beautiful smile and contagious laugh
before I fully let go and let you be gone
But my mind won't let me forget you
and my heart tells me it's wrong
So please come and see me and know my friendship is beyond true
You took a huge part of the world from our lives when you left us
and we felt you left us far too soon
It will be five months on the fourth of June
and I still constantly, thoroughly, unconditionally think of you
My love for your family is unending and my love for you still remains
even amidst the saddest and deepest of pain
your smile still brings the sun to my rain

Oh Eric, so many of us want to know why;
so many of us desperately need answers
but all we can do is cry
...and carry on your legacy of being kind
...of being loyal
...and having fun
Though sadly your work here is done
God has given you brand new wings
and a perfect set of lungs
So you breathe baby,
you breathe the Breath of Life
and you continue to be the angel you were on earth;
today the angel in our minds
You have left a job behind, but please know it can be done
We stand behind you still
and I speak for everyone
Go where you want to go
and be who you want to be
but most importantly and above all else my friend

Be free

Eric,

be *free

Yea of course,
I,
me,
a woman,
a black woman
a darker black woman to be exact..
have black privilege because thats a thing you know
Its like when I walk into the store and get followed ..  yea
or that time i came back to school with my “extensions” and was told my hair grows fast
or maybe its when a white person comes up to me asking if i listen to 21 savage because “black people listen to rap right?”
or my favorite is telling my brother to be safe
as he heads out the door worrying he may be shot for reaching for his wallet
maybe its when i worry about whether or not my brother or cousins or father will be the next Trayvon martin or Eric garner or philando castille even
my black privilege
has allowed me to be labeled as loud and ratchet and sometimes a ***
because that what dark skin black girls are
right ..
yea ….
thats black privilege
its getting told I'm pretty for a black girl
its being told I'm intimidating and mean and ugly natured
but no no i swear its not cause your black
I love black people I'm not racist
Slavery happened years ago
Black people are racist too
im not racist i just don't like black people  
yea … I've heard it all.
No !
im not just another “angry black girl”
Im just a black girl
Im not mad don't get me wrong
I just wanted to inform you on my black privilege
I wanted to inform you that it is NOT okay to touch my hair
that is NOT  okay to say to mock “black slang”
It is not okay to say “are you speaking english” when i talk
It is not okay to put my people through hundreds of years of slavery and oppression and systemic racism and TELL US TO GET OVER IT!
Im sorry excuse my tone of voice
but can you blame me for getting worked up when I have to worry about whether or not my people will come home at night
yea …
thats MY black privilege

when i was born within the Chernobyl aftermath, and the nurse tried to **** me, in that she almost choked me, enlarging my heart, and when that didn't **** me, and they attempted to befriend me, and gave me a brain haemorrhage... and that didn't **** me... i started to think: what will? i can't say i'm in hell, i can only assert limbo: i'm not a monster, just yet... it's only later that i became *******, when they wrapped me in a blanket of denials, to ensure their society was a beacon of false hope and even more false love... that last bit is the cherry on the top... i once hated ridicule: now i started to loath playground like games of lies... i just started thinking: these people are a bit worthless... how could people i once respected become so... so... pointless? it's not a case of: oh poor me... i'm laughing... asking for the next quickened allotment of epitaph in marble... i prefer the pain rather than this kiddy game of denying something being true... that sort of **** just makes up for being thought about too much... it exhaust my mental capacity... limbo is quiet fine, i'm apprehensive where these people think they live... utopia isn't exactly a best-described vicinity... but when did people start to become so ugly? it's slow down here, the big bang just happened, or as i say: with the kettle boiling water... biology's darwinism timescale for a reaction, and physics's timescale of the big bang theory are not exactly fascinating for me, boiling my water to make a cup of tea... i am literally split-mind concerning these two "barometres"... it's just hard juggling these two (0, 0) coordinates... to stress a beginning... evidently juggling these two narratives leaves us living our lives on amphetamines... insect like... it's hard to even make time or emotional investment in: a death in a village... it's doubly hard to make adjustments for a tomorrow, giving our input in beginning: no one knows, billions and billions... years... and then back toward the befitting cranium... it really is man with an omni-characteristic, well... at least one of them... which clarifies itself in a way: given that we're no longer exploring this orb, globalisation ensured the tribe died... we can go in circles: round and round... there's never a clear vector in sight... no real unknown land to challenge... it's all been tamed... once the savannah, now the zoo... as one german noted: the melancholy of the completed house... all the work gone into constructing it, the thrills, all gone... it just stands as perfect, as it is already derelict... hard to keep track of a two-beginnings system... it's hard to find awe these days, i mean awe that might allow an Aristotle, rather than just looking stupid... i think that England really does require an invasion to shake it up a little bit, it looks so docile in its arguments... so certain: "poised" to conquer... i can get (0, 0) of the big bang, a big blank... my brain just became scrambled eggs... i store that **** in my head: i'll see forever-never-tomorrow... i store the monkey-suit in my head (the other (0, 0) beginning) - i'll begin to wonder: but the monkeys have it so easy! me panda! me and bamboo! darwinism has either killed of history that we made in the centuries a.d. / a few centuries b.c., or what they're prescribing us really can't fit into one head, or into a few, to make it into a crowd... because when a few ditto-heads ingest one wise monkey talking over another monkey... the atheistic crowd is the quickest to disperse... as with the constant banging on about the number of stars in the universe... i like to look at the number of carbon dioxide bubbles in a glass of Perrier water.

well, maybe because they aren't
my contemporaries... but i despise Chopin
like despise Liszt... the fact that the latter
smoked cigars is just asking
for me to abhor him... and that a poet
   succumbed to his virtuoso skills
with dire tears of
       a jealous thread (matt arnold)...
for me Liszt and Chopin battered the piano,
literally, battered the piano...
     could have slaughtered a cow also...
but then again there's a part of my that says:
well, if the god argument is infantile,
how about the nation argument, is that infantile also?
are we to be bleached entities,
or merely abstract pronoun users? you see,
   they stole Copernicus from the Poles,
and Mickiewicz, and evidently Chopin is no Pole...
but a prize nonetheless... so they keep him
as that rare thing: something born into an almost
inescapable state prone to disintegration...
   what with the monarchy being
     one of import, either a Swedish electer ruler,
or a Hungarian, or a Russian, or a German (e.g.
house of Sas) - a monarchical brothel,
   otherwise known as an aristocratic "democracy"...
    it's just a good thing i don't like him... i don't see how
a piano can be ***** as it has been by either Liszt or
Chopin, sure enough, nimple fingers,
joseph ii hapsburg, mozart, the film amadeus citation:
                                                               too many notes...
    a bit like me... for its worth, the piano is so delicate,
    so so delicate... how it becomes an instrument that
requires competitors, how you need more virtuosos
who can play the **** music than original from-scratch
composers... piano: it just asks for gliding hands,
it's not asking for these megalomanic
tunes that might leave you with a wish from an audience
memember: to break your fingers...
evidently nothing more than a death / ******* stare...
or why the true resting place
of Chopin is Japan... as odd as it might seem...
           plays the piano great... plays a woman
  like a bagpipe...
                  aren't the two related?
     and when i first heard *ola gjeilo on the radio
i was a woman watching a romcom...
                              the whole northern lights album...
my: a feast!
         just one of the few contemporary composers
that i can invoke...
     so coming back to the piano:
   me more of a Debussy and Eric Satie palette...
they just glide... i can only imagine
       a flight of migrating swans,
   or ice-skating...
    Chopin and Liszt is a mathematical headache...
        solo piano and the gentleness of approach...
    and only today,
   a lesbian couple travelling to manchester...
one of them phoned the radio station
and asked for a request...
      i've been dying to note this song / composer
down for a year or so... always heard the song:
never the composer's name...
                   ludovico einaudi,
much to my taste: the piano still remains
   a wardrobe item of the orchestral architecture,
rather than a door of your fridge...
constantly yapping for: more, more, more.
you glide across it,
tease it, rather than taste it,
  or subject it to a rubric of quickened calculation,
it stuff the room,
the best you can do is make it sound airy,
    make diacritical echoes from it,
than actual letters...
           say: the acute above the o, rather than
the o and acute in ó....
such a delicate thing: the piano:
which is why i never understood Chopin,
or felt a need for a national argument
       needing him, propping him on a peddlestool...
having him as a national treasure...
                  i always remained true to
those who settled for gliding over the alphabet...
    rather than immersing themselves in it...
that kind of composition, that simply fakes lazy...
     they are the ones i admire...
     and yes, given that dialectics has been
completely forsaken,
   the best we can do is give an indulgence
in an opinion, and make comments of
diacritic...
   women, chocolates,
men: dialectics...
                    or at least that's how i find myself,
making diacritic comments...
   akin to piano (contra chess,
    white notes consonants,
black notes vowels,
or should i say: any letter with a diacritical
distinction is the black note,
vowels and consonants are uniform in white)...

O blessed night I am feared
For I am a black man who can't shake spears thrown at him on the daily.
High courts let us get clipped by Brutus- clipped by brutes in fact a loose noose can hang you from any platform
Oxygen doesn't transcend class
Eric wasn't the first nor last unable to Garner breath
I... Cant... Breath.
Bill Cosby's first words after sentencing
Sandra Bland's last thoughts before being propped up
I ride around my city feeling Gray inside, DEAD inside wondering if convenient transportation is worth my life.
Othello ruled this nation for eight years yet noble souls are still treated as peasants.
I mean if all the worlds a stage, then why do they play us only when we're players or when the play, us.